Mistress of the Manor
by Medie
Summary: Lana would do anything to protect the man she loves, even pretend to be the thing she's always hated. (Crossover with Batman)


Now, this is one story I never *ever* in my wildest  
dreams thought I would write much less post. I am  
*not* a fan of Lana Lang. Not in the least. KK, I like  
but not Lana. *shakes head firmly* Not a bit...  
  
But....  
  
Well...I blame it on Bruce. That muse is devious and I  
am *sure* he's hiding a Lana muse in my head somewhere  
because this surprised me last week and I still don't  
know where it came from. LOL  
  
  
"Mistress of the Manor"  
Author: Medie  
E-mail: medison@thezone.net  
Rating: PG  
Keywords: Lana pov, crossover, Bruce Wayne, Batman,   
fairytale princess  
Category: Crossover (with Batman universe), Alternate  
Universe  
Pairing: Lana/Other  
Series: none as of yet.  
Spoilers: none  
Disclaimers: None of them are mine.   
Summary: Lana would do anything to protect the man she  
loves, even pretend to be the very thing she's always  
hated.  
Note: No real beta. Just me. So all mistakes I've  
missed, please forgive. :-)  
  
Thank you Julie and Debbie for encouraging me to post this.  
(and *maybe* I will write more. LOL)  
  
"Mistress of the Manor"  
  
  
It's Halloween.  
  
A night for parties and costume balls and a night for  
masks and pretending. I'm familiar with all of these.   
  
Walking into the master suite, I smile amusedly when I  
see the costume waiting in the hands of my personal  
maid. My husband is a man with a great sense of irony  
and, seeing the gown of a Fairytale Princess awaiting  
me, I am reminded of that fact. The attendants waiting  
to help me dress have no understanding of my  
amusement, not really, they believe it's because of  
the fact I am a modern day princess, living in a manor  
house with a kinglike husband at my side with all the  
world holding me up as the epitome of elegance and  
beauty.   
  
"A modern day Princess Grace," the papers call me.   
  
I laugh softly at the thought and out of the corner of  
my eye, I see the maid smile as well.   
  
If they only knew. But none of them know.   
  
All my life I've been cast as the fairytale princess  
and that has not changed. Now they call me the  
'Mistress of the Manor' and see me as the gracious  
host, beautiful wife, and society diva. I am all of  
those things, I know, but there are layers to my  
existence that none of them can ever understand.   
  
I may be Mistress of the Manor, but no longer am I the  
little girl wearing that fairy princess costume,  
granting wishes. My life is many things, but a  
fairytale is not one of them and the true irony is?  
None of them will ever know that.   
  
They look at me now and they see Mrs. Lana Wayne, wife  
of billionaire industrialist, society darling, and  
half of the marriage that is wildly being proclaimed  
the new American royalty. They see a woman who is  
active in many charities, attends dozens of parties a  
year on her husband's arm, dripping in expensive  
jewelry and wearing the one-of-a-kind creation of  
whichever designer won the advertising blitz to get my  
attention. They see a woman living the life that is  
every woman's dream; wife to a handsome billionaire  
who worships the ground she walks on.  
  
If they only knew...  
  
Oh Bruce does love me. More than anything. I know that  
and I revel in it, but our life is not a dream. Not  
all the time. Half the time it is the opposite. It's a  
nightmare.   
  
You see, I may be Mrs. Bruce Wayne, but technically, I  
am also Mrs. Batman. On one hand, I spend some nights  
dancing, laughing, drinking wildly expensive  
champagne, but on the other? On the other hand, I  
spend almost as many nights sitting in the kitchen  
with Alfred, drinking tea, and praying my husband will  
come home alive. That this won't be the night his luck  
runs out and he's killed.   
  
Some fairytale.  
  
"Mrs. Wayne?" The hairdresser, soon to be the latest  
sensation in New York, catches my attention and I pull  
myself from my reverie.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He holds up a mirror, allowing me a fantastic view of  
the masterpiece that he's made of my hair.   
  
I smile and nod. "Beautiful, thank you."  
  
He beams, my praise and endorsement carries much  
weight in his world and I suspect that, like the last  
one, he'll be catapulted into a world where  
celebrities ring his phone off the hook clamoring he  
give them the 'Lana Wayne Look' and to name his price.  
  
Who would have thought? I have a 'look'.   
  
The makeup artists move in to begin work on my face  
and again I drift away into my own thoughts, the only  
way I can stand having so many people so close for so  
long. I enjoy pampering as much as the next girl but  
there is only so much I can take and preparing for  
these parties tends to take me to that limit fairly  
quickly.  
  
I've learned many techniques over the years to deal  
with the downsides of this life, the one I haven't  
quite mastered yet, is avoiding the sleepless nights  
when Bruce is 'at work'.   
  
The makeup artist timidly asks me to close my eyes so  
she can begin work on them and I obey the request with  
a soft smile. Imagine that, someone afraid to speak to  
me. I suppose that fear is justified in a way, if I am  
displeased and it gets back to her employers even  
through a third party, her job is done for. Just the  
same, I find that funny.  
  
Someone afraid of little Lana Lang, it's so funny as  
to be absurd. One thing no one ever was, in  
Smallville, was afraid of me. The predominant emotion  
I seemed to generate in my hometown is that of pity or  
some twisted sort of deification. Put up on a pedestal  
for everyone to admire and adore.   
  
Pretty much what happens to me now as Lana Wayne. At  
least, now, I'm spared the pity. Being the wife of  
Bruce Wayne certainly has its advantages, one of which  
being a quiet word to the press in the city ensures  
that few reporters dare intrude into my past  
tragedies. They cannot not risk tempting the anger of  
my husband. Bruce works very hard to keep his public  
persona as far as he possibly can from the dark and  
dangerous aura that Batman exudes but one thing he  
does not hide is his protectiveness of me. They can  
paint me as the perfect socialite wife all they want  
but they dare not poke their journalistic noses into  
any part of my life that he has deemed private, he  
very well may have them cut off if they do.   
  
Ironically enough, that protective streak has only  
served to enhance the public's view of me as the Lady  
of Wayne Manor. Sometimes I feel as if they think that  
the Manor is stuck in the Renaissance and I prance  
about the house in a massive gown, serving tea,  
entertaining guests and posing for Da Vinci in my  
spare time while my beloved Prince conquers a few  
countries and reinvents the wheel.   
  
They may not go that far with it, but I'm still the  
fairytale princess, just reborn in a new guise.   
  
The makeup artist steps back and smiles at me.  
"Finished."  
  
Another mirror is held before me and I dispense more  
glowing compliments to another ecstatic person before  
dismissing them all. Time to get dressed.   
  
My maid, hand chosen for me by Alfred upon my marriage  
to Bruce, steps forward with an empathetic smile.  
Noreen knows how much I detest the process to get  
ready for a party and they're bad enough when it's  
just a regular party, but a costume ball? That's even  
worse. Much more preparation. "Another night." I sigh.  
  
"Another dress." She answers with a grin and I move  
behind the screen, sliding out of my dress and  
underwear and then into the underclothing that comes  
with the gown.  
  
When I walk out from behind the screen, I find Noreen  
waiting with the gown and I step into it. It laces up  
in the back and I turn to let her at them. She takes  
longer than usual and when hands finally do grasp the  
laces, they are distinctly masculine. The cold of a  
ring, a wedding ring, brushes against my back and I  
shiver.  
  
"Noreen," I tease. "You've changed."  
  
My hair has been done in an up-sweep that leaves my  
neck bare and I see dark hair out of the corner of my  
eye as Bruce leans in to nip at my earlobe. "You look  
beautiful." He murmurs into my ear, voice low and  
husky. It reminds me of how he sounds when he's in  
'the suit' but I resolutely push the comparison from  
my mind.   
  
"Thank you." Turning, I look up at him with my amused  
smile back in place. "Fairy tale princess?"  
  
He chuckles, bringing my hand up to his lips, kissing  
the palm. "To hear Nell talk, you qualify."  
  
Ah yes, Nell. Bless her heart. She, like everyone  
else, thinks I live the perfect, storybook life. In  
some ways, she, like everyone else, couldn't be more  
wrong but, looking up into the loving gaze of my  
husband, on the other hand, she couldn't be more  
right.   
  
Bruce has asked me to share a fantastically heavy  
burden with him, asked me to live in the shadow of a  
Bat and lie to everyone I know, but it's a life I  
like. A life I love. He risks his life every night,  
pushes himself, punishes himself, but I know, at the  
end of it, he'll do everything in his power to come  
home alive . . . to me.   
  
In his eyes, I'm not a fairytale princess, and he  
isn't a prince, but in mine, he is a knight, the Dark  
Knight, and I am his Lady.   
  
Mistress of the Manor.  
  
For once, it's a persona I want to assume.   
  
I live a lie to protect my husband, I let people see  
me as a fairytale princess, believe me to be the  
epitome of what high society has to offer, I let them  
cast me in a role like the one I played for so many  
years in Smallville. But now, now I have a reason to  
play that role and I'll play it so well, I'll out act  
any starlet Hollywood has to offer.   
  
Bruce sees the look in my eyes but, typically, he  
doesn't question it. Instead, he kisses me once more  
then turns me around once more, working on lacing me  
up. We both have our roles in this grand melodrama we  
call our life and we'll act our hearts out. His life,  
and by extension mine, quite literally depends on it.  
  
Finis 


End file.
